


Little Mountain Of Mine

by hannibalsketches



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thorin Lives, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, The Acorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsketches/pseuds/hannibalsketches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Bilbo Baggins returned to Bag End, it was as if a deep, dark pit was eating away at his insides, trying to consume his very soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Mountain Of Mine

_I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place._

_I can't look at the stars_

_They make me wonder where you are_

_-Stars, Grace Potter & The Nocturnals-_

_~~~_

The moment Bilbo Baggins returned to Bag End, it was as if a deep, dark pit was eating away at his insides, trying to consume his very soul. Not that he had much fight left in him to fend it off. All of it vanished the moment he had to leave the Lonely Mountain, and his friends behind. The persistent rudeness of his neighbors and friends wasn’t helping much either, especially when the blasted auctioneer read his contract, asking an absolutely ridiculous question.

“Who is this person you pledged your service to? Thorin Oakenshield?”

“He was…” There were millions of words he wanted to say. _The bravest being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. The biggest arse-hole of Middle Earth, because he left me alone. The only one I’ve ever loved_. “My friend.”

As he slams the door behind himself, he hears the hobbits hushed conversations, but he could care less if they ever spoke to him again. He wanted to be where his heart was, in the Erebor, millions of miles away, but there was nothing but grief and sorrow left there, nothing but cold walls to warm his bones. He stands in the middle of his long forgotten home, and feels the waves of grief and sorrow strike him with such a force, he nearly falls over.

Bilbo decides to sit instead, gathering his knees until they're just at his chin. He reaches in his pocket, feeling the familiar metal of his discovery. He twirls the ring around in his hands, till the coldness turns to warmth. His home was not a home anymore, just a cruel reminder of all he left behind.

Balin had practically begged him to stay, ensuring him that under Oin’s care, Thorin would pull through, and no matter how much he wanted to believe it, he could not. Thorin was dead, and stole away all the happiness in Bilbo’s heart as he went on. Even if the dwarven prince managed a miracle, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but blame himself. He left early on, not bothering to visit the healing tent Thorin occupied.

The weather had fitted his mood perfectly that morning, but now seemed to be mocking him in Bag End. Sunshine and pleasant breezes bathed his property, ignoring his feelings entirely.

He grins softly at the memory of a single good conversation, the last time he saw Thorin smile. Bilbo reaches in his pocket for the acorn, but finds it empty. Puzzled, he turns his pockets out, but again nothing is there, save for the ring. His heart lurches at the possibility of having lost the token of such glee.

“No, no, please…”

With too much force, he rummages through his belongings, even going as far as pouring out the chest containing his portion of gold. Coats are nearly ripped apart, and Bilbo gives himself a paper cut while filing through his papers. The hobbit rushes out his door, tracing his steps until he nearly reaches the forest. He lands down in a childish scream of frustration.

He had lost the acorn. The one promise he held with Thorin and Thorin alone was long gone, just like the dwarven prince himself.

Bilbo cries until the sky is dark.

~

The second Thorin Oakenshield opens his eyes, there is only one question on his lips.

“Where is Bilbo?”

No one answers him, they have more for him to know than the whereabouts of one hobbit. Not only Fili, but Kili has fallen, and the remaining dwarves from the Iron Hills are there. His sister is among them.

Dis enters almost at once, sobbing uncontrollably, something she hadn’t done since the death of her husband. Thorin holds her, crying as well. Innocent lives were taken, it was all his fault.

“I am sorry, sister….I didn’t protect them like you wanted..” Dis looks up with fury in her eyes.

“Of course you did. Do not blame yourself, please Thorin. My sons….they died in honor, protecting you, and dine among the kings, our father and grand-” She erupts into tears once more, pressing closer, clinging to Thorin as if she were a child again. He holds her.

~

The next morning, Thorin wakes with the same question on his lips.

“Where is Bilbo?”

His heart is heavy with the unsaid answer, the knowledge of his nephews horrible end tug it further down. Luckily, Bofur is in the room with him.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes, where is he?”

Bofur’s normally bright face is now broken, beared down with the sorrow around them all. He actually frowns before responding.

“He- he left, Thorin. Wouldn’t even listen to our reassurances that you would be fine. Just off and left with a bitter goodbye.”

Thorin has no words with which to answer. The pain from loss is replaced with a deep, aching burn deep in his chest. _He_ had drove the hobbit away.

Bofur watches the pain on Thorin with a weary glance, but is soon called away by Bombur.

“I’m sorry, Thorin.”

The sentiment is lost in Thorin’s mind, hes dipping headfirst into a scorch worse than dragonfire. His throat seems to close , his head starts to drum.

The king has awoken to a hell worse than before.

~

Several years pass by slowly for Thorin, dragging him lower and lower into the jaws of depression. He willingly gives up his crown, reminded too clearly of the hurt it caused for everyone. The only thing he takes pleasure in is the burial of the Arkenstone, put beneath large boulders and coated with shimmering gold. The stone made him hurt those he held the closest of all.

He’s reminded of this too vividly as he sits on the gate of Erebor, reliving the darkest point of his madness, the act that drove his hobbit away. He openly weeps at the images the spot produces, not just the bad, but the good. A tiny halfling putting himself between Azog the Defiler. The same halfling vouching for his credibility with such admiration in his eyes Thorin had to look away. He should have listened to the Bowman, and never entered the mountain.

He does not hear the heavy thud of boots worn by war and hardship, only the rough, worried speech that follows.

“Oh, Thorin.”

It’s Dwalin, his best friend, looking at him with such sorrow Thorin has to close his eyes. The larger dwarf sits down beside him, and speaks once more.

“The monument is nearly done.”

He’s referring to the memorial being placed on the entrance to the mountain. With the others being destroyed, new statues needed to be placed on either side. From now into forever, two smiling faces of the Durin line will greet all who enter, bringing happiness just as they did in life. Thorin smiles at the thought, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“We might need to post guards outside then. Who knows what havoc they might cause.”

The joke is not funny, but painful in its error. Dwalin laughs a bit, but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

“Tell me one thing.”

He glances at his friend for the first time, sure his eyes betray his calmness, revealing the hurt underneath.

“Why have you turned away? We are all grieving the losses. The point is to grieve together.”

Thorin exhales sharply. The topic was something he was afraid of. Over the time, while his family (in blood or bond) came together, he drifted away. He had caused it, caused everything. Bilbos hasty retreat made him realize it.

“How can I grieve amongst those I hurt?”

Dwalin looks at him then, really looks at him, as if he were a pane of glass.

“You are _forgiven,_ ten times over, my friend. We do not blame you for the sicknesses effects. You must realize that, somewhere inside.”

“I do, I suppose. It’s just...extremely hard to move on with such a hole left within myself. My nephews are gone, my hob-”

He manages to silence himself before confessing his care for Bilbo, but it doesn’t hide from Dwalin.

“ _Your_ hobbit? Augh, if I had’ve known this was about Bilbo, we could’ve had this resolved two years ago!”

“Bilbo cannot stand me, Dwalin. He left as soon as he came upon the chance, even after hearing that I might live.”

“I saw the halfling when he left, and true, we did tell him of your condition, but he didn’t leave in _anger_. If anything, I would say he left mad at himself.”

Thorin doesn’t quite know how to respond. Could Bilbo really feel bitterness at himself, and not Thorin?

“Come on, follow me.” Dwalin rises, heaving up Thorin as he goes. The dwarf has no choice but to do so confusion clouding his mind.

~

They stop traveling at Dwalin’s room. Thorin is dragged inside, watching on with curiosity. The larger dwarf heaves a chest from under his bed, throwing it open and digging inside. Thorin’s about to ask what in Mahal’s name Dwalin was looking for, but is cut off by the others cheer of discovery.

Whatever he finds is very small. Dwalin approaches Thorin with an overly coy grin on his face.

“I always meant to give this to you, Thorin, really. I just became occupied, and well…” He trails off, holding up the treasure with an even bigger grin.

Thorin’s heart nearly stops at the sight. He cradles the precious object as if it were glass, and as far as he’s concerned, it is.

“Th-the acorn? But..”

“I remember a certain conversation you had with our Master Burglar, one that I had to cut short, concerning this very object. I imagine the hobbit is beside himself with grief over not being able to plant it. You should return it.”

Thorin’s smile is genuine, just as it was all those years ago.

-

Nearly ten years after his return to Bag End, and Bilbo has yet to leave his home, but upon the untimely absence of necessities. He never throws parties or attends them, and the Hobbits of the Shire have taken to calling him ‘The Ghost of Bag End’. Not that he really cares. Instead of chewing the cud, Bilbo occupied himself with remembering. He had pages and pages of handwritten notes on almost all the dwarves, their personalities, and stories they had shared with him on the journey. The only one missing was Thorin. The hobbit had tried to immortalize his dear friend with memoirs, but only wound up in tears, running the ink and ruining the document.

It’s well into the night, and Bilbo is putting the finishing touches on Kili’s papers, rereading them one last time before he puts them away, reaching for his own journal, flipping through rather mediocre renderings of his companions (and a few rather humourous Smaug renditions), until he reaches the back of the book. He grabs a stick of graphite from his desk, and begins to sketch.

He isn’t the best at drawings, but meeting Ori and getting a few pointers certainly helped some of his skills develop. Before he can really follow what hes creating, the door knocks, sending him on his feet in a huff. The notebook clatters to the floor, landing on a rather impressive beginning to a certain dwarfs bright gaze.

The hobbit growls as the visitor knocks again. He’s convinced its bloody Lobelia, likely here to nab his spoons after hearing another ridiculous rumor.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Lobelia, but I’m not dead!” He screams, before opening his door in haste.

“I would certainly hope not, Master Baggins.”

On the other side of his door is most definitely _not_ Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, in fact, its the furthest thing from her. There, on his doorstep is a real ghost, smiling wide and as handsome as Bilbo remembered, Thorin Oakenshield. There was no way it could be Thorin, though. Thorin died in the Battle of the Five Armies, didn’t he?

_Of course he did, you twit. You’ve officially gone mad, Bilbo Baggins._

At his shocked expression, the apparition laughs even harder, a very convincing laugh that warms Bilbo to his core, which in turn forces him to plunder.

“Th-Thorin? But…wha-.....why are you here?”

Had he died in his sleep, and was being escorted to the Great Halls?

“I came to return something.”

In one swift movement, the dwarf steps closer, gently tugging Bilbo’s hands out with one hand, and reaching in his pocket with the other.

Bilbo watches on in awe as Thorin drops a tiny gift into the palm of his hand. It bounces, but rests in innocent glee, glinting slightly in the moonlight. Bilbo audibly gasps. Thorin slowly closes the halflings hand around the acorn, but does not drop either of his large hands, instead holding Bilbos.

“You dropped it, at Raven Hill. Dwalin found it, and gave it to me. I remembered how important it was, and thought it would be best to deliver it in person.”

Thorin’s speech slowly eases away Bilbo’s doubt. No, he was not dead. Neither was Thorin, it seemed.

“Deliver it in….” He’s suddenly overcome with an overwhelming anger at the dwarf, and himself. “Oh, you oaf! Curse this stupid acorn!” The hobbit hastily pulls from Thorin’s grasp, shoving the nut in his pocket, then turning to re enter his house. Red-faced and mean, he whirls on the unsuspecting dwarf as he steps back inside.

“ Are you going to stand there?”

“I, um..” Thorin stands still, fear in his body at the hobbit being so upset.

“Get your arse inside! You have lots of explaining to do, Master Dwarf!”

~

Once in, Thorin is struck with an overwhelming sense of home, as if his past tribulations were melted away the minute he stepped back into the hobbit hole. He takes his time memorizing every wall and piece of furniture, in case the hobbit himself sent him away. Bilbo, however, is what stops Thorin from his little game. The halfling is standing at the fireplace, where Thorin himself once stood, many years ago. Approaching him reveals that his hobbit was crying, placing the acorn on his mantle with gentle care, but still managed to smile at Thorin’s presence. The dwarf’s heart soars at the gesture. It grows heavy seconds later though, as he’s reminded of the hurt he caused the hobbit.

He catches Bilbo’s face, staring at him now, the orange glow of the fireplace bathing his unblemished skin.

“Bilbo, I’m so sorry.”

He’s struck as the hobbits lips mimic his own, making their apologies voiced at the same time. The two share a laugh about it, so carefree, but so crucial to their own healing process. Tears mingle in both their minds as they settle down amongst the flames.

Bilbo starts first. Rather, his mouth starts running as soon as his bottom hits the chair. He’s sincere in revealing that he blamed himself for everything that transpired with the Arkenstone, but in the long run realized that more blood would have been lost had he not betrayed Thorin. The halfling struggles as he explains why he left early, criticizing himself for blatant selfishness and cowardice. Thorin tries to correct him, but he won’t listen.

Thorin tells Bilbo about his awakening, neglecting to mention little details that gave away his true desire. He wasn’t even sure if Bilbo still saw him as a friend.

After he tells his side of the eight year absence, the two are left with nothing but silence. A warm, trusting silence but silence nonetheless. Thorin finds himself staring at the helfing, wondering why he wasn’t being turned away for being such a horrid friend. Bilbo is too transfixed by the flame, the comforting glow flickers against his skin in beauty. He’s soon caught, and the pair stare at one another. Its not a normal glance, but one of pure emotion. He can read into Bilbo as Bilbo can him, and it becomes too much very fast.

With a rumble he rises, standing at the fireplace, where he sang the mourning song of his people so many years before. Now, there was jubilation in this room, heightened senses and frayed nerves. He couldn’t bear not telling Bilbo now, while the air was so rich with emotion.

“After I awoke, I kept repeating a name.”

“Oh?”

He cannot see the hobbit, but knows well enough that the halfling was twiddling his thumbs, heart racing faster with the passing second.

“Aye.” He turns to face Bilbo then, completely enraptured by the being before him. The hobbit looked so soft, hair ruffled, worrying on his lower lip. He shyly meets Thorin’s gaze.

“Your name, Master Baggins.”

The halflings eyes grow impossibly wide, but he hides them almost instantly, ducking his head and swinging his feet in nervousness.

“I am so sorry I left you, Thorin. But I could not help it...The mountain reeked of your absence, I was positive you were going to die. So i left..”

The hobbit was lost, maxed out on nerves and uncertainty. He had told Thorin this before.

Using the hobbits eyes as an aversion, Thorin draws closer to Bilbo, who has now started a tiny chant of sorrys. The dwarf cuts them off instantly by grabbing the halflings chin, forcing him to look up.

“Bilbo..”

“Yes, Thorin?” The hobbits legs are bouncing in nervous fits. Thorin just leans closer.

“Tell me...What did you mean to say, all those years ago, before Dwalin cut us off?”

Bilbo instinctively scrunches his nose, eyes darting between Thorin’s lips and mouth in a nervous fever.

“I was going to...that is...t-that I…” The hobbits pink tongue darts up to lick nervously along his lips.  It’s all the permission Thorin needs.

Before their lips meet, he swears he hears “love” pass by Bilbo’s mouth.

The kiss is so gentle, such a perfect meeting of mouths that both parties whimper at first contact. The hobbit grows daring, reaching up to thread his fingers through the mane of hair Thorin possessed. As he kneads the dwarfs scalp, Thorins sighs, reaching down to pick up the halfling with ease. Immediately, Bilbo wraps his legs round Thorin’s torso, giggling a bit as they resume their gentle kiss.

It’s soon turned needy and desperate the moment Thorin dares to skim his tongue against Bilbo’s own. The hobbit starts kissing Thorin harder, licking his way inside and playing a rough tango with Thorin’s own tongue. He’s forced to lower them, in fear of his legs giving out.

His hobbit smirks against his mouth, forcing a hand to the dwarf’s chest, and pushing him down on the carpet. He openly laughs at Thorins slightly shocked face, then grabs the dwarves hands, instructing them to shed him of his clothing. All the while, the halfling drowsily smiles, winding his hand in Thorins hair once more. To experiment he pulls the braid near Thorin’s ear, absolutely enjoying the low, rumbling moan he receives as answer.

Suddenly, Thorin is rising, taking his tiny lover with him, and successfully removing Bilbo’s pants. He leaves the hobbit in his lap, while he busies himself with removing his own shirts.

Bilbo helps from time to time, but the garment is soon off, revealing a strong, broad chest with patches of thick black hair. Bilbo’s eyes are lust-blown, and he coyly looks at his dwarf from under his lashes smiling wide. Thorin returns the gesture, grabbing his halfling and placing him down gently on the floor again. A beautiful pink blush forms on his nose, and quickly spreads to his creamy smooth chest and ears. The dwarf is taken back with the beauty, reliving those nights he spent on the journey, yearning for Bilbo’s touch, but never indulging. What a fool he was.

He leans down to nibble on the unmarked neck, enjoying the tiny gasps of pleasure he elicits. The hobbits small hands reach up to tangle in Thorins chest, and he hums low in pleasure. Thorin trails down slowly, nipping here and there. He loves the arch Bilbo gives as he breathes over the halfling’s erection. With a quick move, he licks a stripe up the organ. Bilbo keens, breathlessly gasping in the warm air.

“Ah! T-Thorin...:”

The dwarf glances up at his hobbit, a wide grin stinging his cheeks with its ferocity. He drags his beard as he goes.

“Come here, you ah-! You fool...and get rid of those breeches!”

He does as he's instructed, meeting the fevered kisses of his lover with passion. His long hair curtains them in, isolating from anything but each other. Eventually, they have to break, but press foreheads immediately after, looking at anything but one another’s eyes. Thorin wonders how he ever noticed the complexity of Bilbo’s eyes before. They weren’t just green, but honey and brown.

“Aren’t we a pair, then?” Bilbo laughs, looking into Thorins eyes with raw emotion.

“Always were, Master Baggins.” He plants a lazy kiss to the side of Bilbo’s mouth.

“Thorin?”

“Yes?”

“You’re crushing me.”

The dwarf laughs as he rises, loving the freeing feeling of it. It was something he rarely did back home anymore, but then again, ‘back home’ didn’t have his Bilbo in it.

As they part one another, the realization of their nudity dawns on them, pulling forth a deep lust that needed to be satisfied as soon as possible. Thorin is struck by how different their bodies really were; the hobbit was all soft spots and smooth skin, while the dwarf himself was sharp and jagged, with more cuts than hair.

Bilbo wordlessly rises, padding off to get something. If Thorin watches the swell of his bottom as he goes, then so be it.

When the hobbit returns, he’s redder than before, holding a jar of something Thorin had used enough time on himself to know what it is. Salve.

The preparation Thorin takes is as careful as possible. He did not want to hurt his hobbit on this first time, so thoroughly ensures hes loose enough by pressing one finger in at a  time,  stopping at three. Bilbo, meanwhile, becomes a wrecked mess, his cock weeping and an angry purple. Yet he does not rush the dwarf in any way.

When he’s done, Thorin grabs Bilbo once more, lowering the lusty halfling onto his cock slowly and carefully. Once he’s fully sheathed, the hobbit whines, begging Thorin to move, or _something_.The dwarven prince happily obliges. He starts a quick pace, sliding in and out of his lover slowly, then faster as Bilbo takes matters into his own hands, meeting the thrusts, and gasping every time. He wraps his arms around Thorin’s neck, pounding back down until he’s seeing stars, cumming wordlessly in between them. The dwarf tries to meet his own peak, in fear of making the hobbit uncomfortable.

“T-Thorin?”

“Y-Yes?”

The hobbit some how manages to get right against the shell of Thorin’s ear, holding on as the dwarf seeks his pleasure.

“I...I love y-you.”

The peak hits him harder than he ever remembered it being before, and he moans low, biting gently into Bilbo’s shoulder as he fills the hobbit.

Slowly, he pulls out of Bilbo, leaving the halfling on his chest as he lays down, not caring to move for cleanup, but perfectly content to bask in the afterglow, in front of the roaring fire.

“I want to move back to Erebor, you know.” Bilbo says, resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder, completely spent. The dwarf throws an arm over his lover, chuckling.

How foolish was he, to believe that this kind, beautiful being could ever leave out of complete hate? If anything, it was his own stupidity that made them suffer.

“Bilbo?”

“Hmm...yes?”

The hobbit sounds almost asleep, so Thorin turns his head, to look upon his Bilbo with adoration in his eyes. The halfling smiles drowsily.

“I love you too.”

Bilbo responds by billowing further into Thorins hair. He gives a happy sigh before drifting off again.

Thorins attempts at getting comfortable are thwarted by an obtrusion in his lower back. Carefully, he lifts himself up, removing it.

The dwarven prince chuckles, holding the blessed acorn in his fist as he settles down, here and forever, with his burglar.

~end.~

****  
  


_Oh Lord I’d love to see that place again_

_With its deep water, mountain range_

_Full of those hard living kind_

_Petrol stations and a copper mine_

_The kind of place I think I could die_

_-Deep Water, The Middle East-_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is encouraged and welcomed!!


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